“I don’t care what your name is, you’ve got to go back and set matters straight.”
The man glared at Matt for a moment. Then, without warning, he pushed the boy backward. Matt was standing upon the edge of the steps leading to the insurance office at the time, and he went down with a crash into the wire-netting door, knocking a large hole into it.
Before Matt could recover the man darted down Wall street and around the nearest corner. Matt would have gone after him, but the proprietor of 35 the insurance office came out, and demanded to know what he meant by bursting the wire-netting door in such a rude fashion.
“A man knocked me down the steps,” Matt explained. “I hope the door isn’t ruined.”
“Hardly, but there’s a hole in it.”
“The wire has broken from under the molding, that is all,” said the boy. “Let me see if I can’t fix it.”
He brought out his penknife, and loosened part of the molding. Then drawing the wire back into place, he tacked the molding fast again; and the door was as good as before.
But all this had taken time, and Matt knew it would now be useless to attempt to follow Paul Carden. He looked around the corner, and seeing nothing of the fellow, retraced his steps to Randolph Fenton’s establishment.
“Where in the world have you been so long?” demanded Mr. Fenton, as Matt entered the private apartment. “Here I have been waiting an hour for you to deliver a message to Ulmer & Grant. I hire you to be on hand when wanted, Lincoln; not to loaf your time away.”
“I was not loafing my time away, Mr. Fenton,” returned Matt calmly. “There was a private matter I had to attend to, and——”